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Other men had behaved like this with her. Many of them had been unable to have an erection, others had wanted to be treated like children, others had said that they would like her to be their wife because it excited them to know that she had had so many lovers. Although she had still not met any of the "special clients," she had already discovered the vast universe of fantasies that fills the human soul. But they were all used to their own worlds and none of them had said to her: "take me away from here." On the contrary, they wanted to take Maria with them.
And even though those many men had always left her with money, but drained of energy, she must have learned something. If one of them had really been looking for love, and if sex really was only part of that search, how would she like to be treated? What did she think should happen on a first meeting?
What would she really like to happen?
"I'd like a gift," said Maria.
Ralf Hart didn't understand. A gift? He had already paid for that night in advance, while they were in the taxi, because he knew the ritual. What did she mean?
Maria had suddenly realized that she knew, at that moment, what a man and a woman needed to feel. She took his hand and led him into one of the sitting rooms.
"We won't go up to the bedroom," she said.
She turned out almost all the lights, sat down on the carpet and asked him to sit down opposite her. She noticed that there was a fire in the room.
"Light the fire."
"But it's summer."
"Light the fire. You asked me to guide our steps tonight and that's what I'm doing."
She gave him a steady look, hoping that he would again see her "light." He obviously did, because he went out into the garden, collected some wood still wet with rain, and picked up some old newspapers so that the fire would dry the wood and get it to burn. He went into the kitchen to fetch more whisky, but Maria called him back.
"Did you ask me what I wanted?"
"No, I didn't."
"Well, the person you're with has to exist too. Think of her. Think if she wants whisky or gin or coffee. Ask her what she wants."
"What would you like to drink."
"Wine. And I'd like you to keep me company."
He put down the whisky bottle and returned with a bottle of wine. By this time, the fire was already beginning to burn; Maria turned out the few remaining lights, so that the flames were the only illumination in the room. She behaved as if she had always known that this was the first step: recognizing the other person and knowing that he or she was there.
She opened her handbag and found inside a pen she had bought in a supermarket. Anything would do.
"This is for you. I bought it so that I could note down some ideas about farm management. I used it for two days, I worked until I was too tired to work anymore. It contains some of my sweat, some of my concentration and my willpower, and I'm giving it to you now."
She placed the pen gently in his hand.
"Instead of buying something that you would like to have, I'm giving you something that is mine, truly mine. A gift. A sign of respect for the person before me, asking him to understand how important it is to be by his side. Now he has a small part of me with him, which I gave him with my free, spontaneous will."
Ralf got up, went over to a shelf and returned, carrying something. He held it out to Maria.
"This is a carriage belonging to an electric train set I had when I was a child. I wasn't allowed to play with it on my own, because my father said it had been imported from the United States and was very expensive. So I had to wait until he felt like setting up the train in the living room, but he spent most Sundays listening to opera. That's why the train survived my childhood, but never gave me any happiness. I've still got all the track, the engine, the houses, even the manual, because I had a train that wasn't mine and with which I never played.
"I wish I'd destroyed it along with all the other toys I was given and which I've since forgotten all about, because that passion for destruction is part of how a child discovers the world. But this pristine train set always reminds me of a part of my childhood that I never lived, because it was too precious and it meant too much work for my father. Or perhaps it was just that whenever he set the train up, he was afraid he might show his love for me."
Maria began staring into the fire. Something was happening, and it wasn't just the wine or the cozy atmosphere. It was that exchange of gifts.
Ralf turned to the fire too. They said nothing, listening to the crackle of the flames. They drank their wine, as if it didn't matter that they said nothing, did nothing. They were just there, together, staring in the same direction.
"I have a lot of pristine train sets in my life too," said Maria, after a while. "One of them is my heart. And I only played with it when the world set out the tracks, and then it wasn't always the right moment."
"But you loved."
"Oh, yes, I loved, I loved very deeply. I loved so deeply that when my love asked me for a gift, I took fright and fled."
